Third Time is a Charm

by Cate Martin

  The voices of the crowd shrieked as one of the combatants knocked the other down to the ground. He rushed forward and was going to start kicking the other man before he could get back on his feet, but the first man's friends gathered around and broke up the fight. He didn't seem willing to stop kicking, not even when offered a jug of something frothy. There was a loud commotion, with lots of coarse language, but no one was looking my way.

  I went down the steps and through the cellar door, having to duck under the beam at the top of the frame to get into the cellar.

  The urine stench of the alley gave way to the stale smell of the beer-soaked timbers overhead. Years and years since the sale of beer had been declared illegal, and still, the smell just wouldn't go away.

  I saw a light shining from the far end of the cellar, at the bottom of the sloped floor, This space was blocked off by a wall of crates so that I couldn't quite see where the light was coming from, but that was where Otto kept his office.

  I could hear voices talking and laughing together. None of them seemed to be Otto's, but I had noticed that compared to his minions he tended to be quieter, more soft-spoken.

  I clutched the photo more tightly inside my pocket, then realized I was wrinkling it and pulled my hands out of my pockets. I knew Otto well enough, but his underlings always made me nervous. If they were here without him, I'd have to come back later.

  I walked down the slope to the gap in the wall of crates, stopping just where the shadows ended, not quite in the light of the single bulb beyond.

  None of the men were familiar. And they were older than his usual crew and burlier. They looked less like nimble thieves in the gray area between juvenile delinquents and hardened criminals and more like longshoremen.

  I lingered in the gap between the crates, staying in the shadow as my eyes scanned the room for any sign of Otto or anyone I recognized as being an acquaintance of Otto's.

  No one. And the usual assortment of stolen merchandise and crate after crate of booze was missing. Something had changed here, and I didn't know what it meant. But I wasn't going to stay and ask. I would wait for Edward. Edward would know where to find Otto.

  But I had lingered too long. Just as I started to turn away, one of them called out. "Hey, missy," he said. "What are you doing down here?"

  "Someone lurking in the doorway?" another asked, moving closer to get a look at me. "Step into the light so we can see you."

  I was disinclined to take that action. The one who had spoken first was standing behind the table that had been Otto's desk. Perhaps he was their leader. He certainly looked the oldest, a few wisps of colorless hair all he had to comb over his sun-damaged scalp.

  The one leering at me, reaching a hand out as if in some caricature of a gentleman about to help a lady out of her carriage, was younger. He must work around boilers or something else that gave off incredible heat, to judge from the layers of burn scars over his bare forearms and the overwhelming stench of sweat he carried with him like a cloak.

  "I was looking for Otto, but I can see is not here," I said.

  For some reason, they all found this very funny.

  "Looking for Otto?" the first one laughed. "Do as Len says and come closer into the light so we can see you."

  "No, I'd rather not," I said.

  I can see you," Len said. While I'd been looking at the first one, Len had drawn even closer to me, and he was leaning into the shadows to peer up at me. I glared back at him, but I don't think he was intimidated. "Otto has nice taste, eh, Kev?" he said. "He's very popular with the young ladies, our Otto."

  "Otto isn't here. This is our place now. But anything you need Otto for you can get from us," Kev said.

  His tone had changed dramatically from low-level threat to smarmy salesman. I didn't know exactly what he was offering me, but I was pretty sure I didn't want it.

  "It's a personal matter," I said. I suddenly realized that I was speaking more and more primly by the minute. Rather, like when Sophie was starting to get stressed and she would punch up the Creole in her accent.

  I hadn't realized I did that. Interesting.

  "We handle personal matters too," Kev said.

  I realized too late that I had lost sight of at least two more of them. Kev and Len hadn't been alone when I came down, but they looked alone now.

  Then I heard a rustling behind me and found myself trapped between in the narrowing opening in the wall of crates, Kev and Len in front of me, and two more men behind me.

  "I'm a student at the Miss Zenobia Weekes' Charm School for Exceptional Young Ladies," I said, putting on an even more prim tone. "Perhaps you've heard of it? Perhaps you are acquainted with the specific skills of the students?"

  "Miss Who's Charm School for What-Now?" Kev said, and all four of them started laughing. "No, not familiar, although I'm a big fan of special skills," he said.

  He left no mystery as to what he considered those to be, but it was really beneath me to show offense at so obvious an insult. "Well, that does make things difficult," I said instead. My hands wanted to shake terribly. I squeezed them into fists close at my sides, hoping they wouldn't notice.

  "You really must come forward and step into the light," Kev said. I could tell his patience with this game was wearing thin.

  The two men behind me were standing very close behind me. I could smell the whiskey on their breath. They had used it to wash down bad meat and old cheese, to judge from the smell, and they were competing with Len for most intense unwashed body smell in a goon lurking in a cellar under a beer hall.

  "No, I think it's time for me to go," I said.

  "Well, we can't just let you go," Kev said. "We don't know who you are. You could be some kind of snoop. Maybe even from the government, eh?"

  The others seemed to find this uproariously funny. I clenched my fists tighter at my sides. Then my right hand brushed up against the wand that I kept inside a special pocket inside my coat. Slowly I unbuttoned my coat, to the predictable amusement of the men around me.

  Then I pulled out my wand to brandish it at all of them.

  Kev's eyes got wide, but not in fear or even surprise, unless that look was the surprise of humor. He started laughing even harder. He was laughing so hard I was worried that he would choke.

  But then Len reached out with one meaty hand and caught my arm, gripping my wrist with a crushing intensity.

  The bones were grinding together. I could feel them approaching the breaking point.

  But he was grabbing my left hand, and my wand was in my right.

  Not that I thought a spell would save me. But I didn't necessarily need to do anything magical with it for it to be a weapon. Instead, I gripped it tightly and jabbed it as hard as I could into his overall-covered stomach.

  He fell back, turning darkly red in his anger, swearing words that I never had even heard before.

  But that quickly changed to silence, a silence that made my ears ache. It was like his rising anger was jacking up the air pressure around us all. He looked like a bull getting ready to charge.

  I didn't have much time.

  I tried to back away, to run, but the two men behind me closed ranks. There was no way for me to get around them. And if they grabbed me, I knew I was done for. Now that I had made Len angry, there was no going back.

  There was only one thing left for me to do. I closed my eye and summoned up my vision of fireworks, the one I had tried to conjure the day before. It hadn't worked then, but I hadn't been this scared then. And hadn't Brianna said the fear for one's life was a huge amplifier of nascent magic?

  Well, I could only hope she was right about that. But if adrenaline was energy I could burn, I had plenty of it to spare.

  I raised my wand. My eyes were still closed, but I remembered where each of them had been standing. I pointed my wand at Len and let everything that had been building up inside of me channel through the wand and out into the room.

  I couldn't tell if it did anything at all. Was it just
dying sparks like before?

  No, because suddenly everyone was screaming. Wild screams of real terror, not screams of laughter this time.

  I opened my eyes.

  I had been picturing fireworks, a sort of sparkly display that might be impressive. Surely any show of magic would be usable as a threat.

  What I had gotten was more like the fiery breath of a dragon firing out of the end of my wand. Len had fallen back until he collided with Kev, the two men together backing away, throwing up their arms against the searing heat.

  Searing heat. I could feel that. I was conjuring more than just light; I was conjuring heat. Not a physical object out of nothing, but not bad.

  I felt hands brushing the back of my coat, attempting to grasp handfuls of it, and I spun to train the dragon breath on the two men behind me. They fell back, scrambling out of the way, and I couldn't blame them. The light and the heat were both very convincing.

  But I only had a moment before they discovered that nothing was actually burning. Not the clothes they were slapping at, not their bodies, not even the crates of very old wood filled with alcohol that were scattered all around us. And once they knew that my spell was an illusion, they would be closing in on me with a great deal of anger.

  Still, there was a little part of me that was very, very eager to get back to Brianna, to tell her all about it. My spell, my spell had really worked.

  But in order to tell Brianna, I had to get out of there alive.

  I tucked the wand away and ran up the cellar steps, back out to the alley beyond.

  And promptly collided with yet another body.

  Chapter 13

  I pushed away from hands that tried to grasp me, flinging my coat back to once more bring my wand up at the ready.

  But the hands hadn't been trying to pin me. They had only been trying to steady me. And the owner of the hands, a familiar-looking boy of maybe twelve, raised them both as if in surrender when he saw my wand.

  "I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going!" he pleaded.

  "Don't I know you?" I asked. Some of the onlookers from the previous fistfight were still standing together at the end of the alley, and a few were looking our way, but I didn't put my wand away. Let them think whatever they liked.

  "I'm Benny, I drive for Mr. Mayer,” he said, hands still up in the air. "And you're Miss Clarke. I drove you to that crazy lady's house."

  "Yes!" I said, recognizing him at last. He looked like he'd grown a foot since I'd seen him last.

  Then I heard footsteps coming up the cellar floor behind me. Footsteps and angry voices.

  "Benny, I need to get out of here in a hurry," I said.

  "This way," he said, leading me past the fistfight crowd to the wider street beyond. I saw Otto's shiny new car parked next to the curb on the far side of the beer hall.

  "Otto is still here?" I asked.

  "No, miss," Benny said, bending to pick up one of two crates that stood on the corner under the streetlight. "But I can take you to him. I'm going there right now, just as soon as I get these loaded up."

  I looked back down the alley. Kev and Len were just emerging from the cellar, but we were looking up and down the alley without seeing me standing on the far side of the gathered men.

  But that wouldn't last long.

  I put away my wand and bent to pick up the last of the crates.

  "Miss!" Benny protested. "You can wait in the car. I've got this."

  "Hurry, Benny," I said from between gritted teeth. The boy was stronger than he looked, or he had taken the lighter of the two boxes.

  Or I was out of shape. But let's pretend it was one of the first two.

  Benny set the crate on the ground while he struggled with opening the trunk. I set mine down on top of his then quickly climbed into the back seat, scrunching down low in the seat.

  I took my wand back out. Not that I suddenly knew any more spells or thought I could get away with the same trick twice. I just felt better with it in my hand.

  Benny loaded both of the crates in the back and shut the lid with a bang. I expected him to get into the driver's seat, but he didn't.

  Then I heard Kev's voice. "About this high? Wearing a navy blue coat and hat? Really chaotic hair? Carrying a wand?" Each question had a rising inflection like he was losing patience, and I guessed Benny was giving him a lot of blank looks.

  "Carrying a wand? I would have remembered that!" Benny laughed. His laugh ended with a woof of air being driven out of his body, and the car lurched as he impacted with it.

  "Answer my question, kid," Kev said.

  "I did," Benny said, gasping for the breath to form words. "I didn't see no dame. This isn't the place for dames. Not dressed like the one you described for sure."

  Someone else spoke, the words too low for me to hear but the tone urgent.

  I heard Benny's feet hit the pavement as Kev let him go. A moment later the driver's door opened, and Benny slipped into the car.

  "All right, miss?" he asked, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

  "Me? I'm fine," I said. "Did they hurt you?"

  "No, miss," he said. Then he started the engine.

  I stayed low in my seat until we were several blocks away. By the time I sat up we were nowhere near the riverfront. We were among the newer, taller buildings of St. Paul's growing downtown area.

  "Otto lives here?" I asked.

  "Lives? I have no idea where he lives," Benny said. "But he works up here now. He's got some nice digs. You'll like it."

  "He certainly couldn't have found worse ones," I said, but not loud enough for Benny to hear. Benny's feelings for Otto went beyond loyalty. They were closer to the domain of hero worship.

  Benny pulled up to a curb and braked the car much more smoothly than he had done the last time I was his passenger. "Never mind the crates," he said when he opened the door to help me out. "I'll get some of the fellas to help me with those. I'll take you straight to Otto."

  "Wait, Benny," I said, catching his sleeve before he could start down the sidewalk. "What are you going to tell Otto about what just happened?"

  "Everything," Benny said as if that were the only possible answer.

  "I shouldn't have been down there alone," I said. "I'm not saying those men were right to try to do what they tried to do, but part of the blame is on me."

  "I can leave out your bit," Benny said grudgingly. "But they manhandled me. I'm Mr. Otto's squire. No one can manhandle me like that and think they can get away with it. I have to tell that bit."

  "Very well," I agreed. But I was pretty sure the minute Benny told his tale, whether I was still standing there next to him or not, Otto would put it together. I doubted those guys would have been harassing Benny if not for my account.

  Benny led me to one of the tall office buildings, then through a narrow door just around the corner from the main street, a smaller door into a private business.

  The business turned out to be a diner. It looked like it was being squeezed by whatever businesses rented space on either side of it. There was barely room for a narrow counter with stools in front of the kitchen down one side and a single line of cramped booths down the other.

  The smell is best not lingered on. The smell of rancid grease was so thick in the air I could feel it clinging to my hair just as I was passing through.

  I mean, I worked in a diner for half my life. I know what a diner should smell like. It wasn't this.

  "Come on," Benny said, taking my hand when I lingered in the doorway. He led my past all of the booths to another door in the back. It was a cheap wooden door painted the same off-putting green as the walls, and I had taken it for a broom closet until Benny knocked on it.

  "Password," a voice said, and I saw a single eye peering out of a peephole I hadn't seen a moment before.

  "Swordfish," Benny said.

  The peephole slammed shut, and once shut it blended perfectly with the rest of the door. Undetectable.

  Then the door swung open. I
could hear voices talking together in low tones, the soft tinkle of someone jostling the cymbal on a drumkit, a soulful woman's voice singing warmup exercises.

  "This is the Greasy Spoon," Benny said.

  "That's a terrible name," I said as I followed him inside, through a space that had clearly been designed to hold brooms, then through a hole cut in the back wall of that closet and down a flight of steps to a very different sort of cellar than the one Otto had dwelled in before. Some rich family might have stored their wine down here once.

  "He's changing it," Benny said to me as we stepped into the first circle of golden light pouring down from an art deco lampshade above. "To Sophie's."

  We came down the last few steps, and I saw a tiny stage on the other side of the cellar where a band was laughing and chatting together while they set up their equipment. The singer looked vaguely familiar. I didn't know much about 1920s music, but I was sure I had seen her photograph in a book or magazine.

  Around the stage were a couple dozen of intimate little tables with tall chairs clustered around them. They were pulled back enough from the foot of the stage to allow for a little dancing, but I had a feeling most of the patrons were coming for the contents of the endless array of bottles behind the gleaming bar on my left.

  "Sophie would like that," I said, and I was pretty sure it was true.

  Benny grinned at me, then became all business again, leading me past the bar to another door designed to blend in with the dark paneling around it.

  Benny knocked briskly then stepped back, arms folded.

  "Enter," said a voice from within.

  "That means you," Benny said, opening the door for me and giving me a little wink as he guided me inside then shut the door behind me.

  The door was thicker than it looked. The moment it fell shut all sounds of the club behind me were cut off.

  Otto was sitting behind an imposingly large desk, the headset of a shining phone in his hand. He smiled at me, then pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Then, as if called back to a continuing conversation, he started talking loudly into the phone.